


Ghosts in the Water

by raven_of_hydecastle



Series: Warlock of Camelot [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur and Gwen are married (of course), Arthur is an idiot, Freya is back, Gwaine Being Gwaine, Hurt Merlin, I blame my roommates, I don't think this is how you use tags, I should be better than this., I sure had fun writing it, I wanted Merlin to be happy so I made him sad, Merlin Is In Love, Merlin is sad, Multi, Psychological, Spiritual, Whump, curse them all, funny knights, ghost - Freeform, goofy Merlin, happy stuff, hurt comfort, i'm trash, kind of, my parents are rolling their eyes, or just crying, party Merlin makes butterflies, sad stuff, the knights are a football team, the knights are awesome, well have fun reading this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 18:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17903576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_of_hydecastle/pseuds/raven_of_hydecastle
Summary: Merlin is pleased to be in charge of Authur's wedding anniversary, but does he really need this many butterflies?A piece of Merlin's past turns up in the most unlikely place; schemes are plotted, knights conspire, and Arthur reevaluates his manservant's relationship status.Also whump. Lotsa wump.





	1. Water Given Life

If Arthur wasn’t so keen on dismissing superstition he would have waited a day before holding the feast. September first was not a bad day, per se, but since it was at the beginning of Queen Mab’s season a little more respect would be wise. 

But if there was one thing Merlin knew about Arthur, it was that he wasn’t smart. No, the king of Camelot was a stubborn, towheaded clotpole who made him work overtime. “Court Warlock” had sounded nice at first, but now--a year after being appointed--it felt like he was Arthur’s manservant again. 

“Merlin, write me a speech,” he’d say, or, “Merlin, has my armor been polished? Oh, George does it now? Well, it lacks that special shine you used to give it, so…” And if there’d been a particularly tedious day at court, he’d make him muck out the stables. (Not that Merlin actually did that; George was happy to be his body double for that chore...Gods knew why.)

Lately, however, Arthur had thought of more...unique… tasks for his pet sorcerer. Namely, enchanting glowing orbs to hang in the great hall, or spell flowers to bloom out of season for their guests. It was easy but boring, and since magic was legal, it would’ve been easy to hire a few druids to do it. But what was the fun in that? 

“Hmm…” Arthur said, squinting at the elaborate magical display Merlin had spent an hour on. “No, no, this will not do, Merlin. I told you, today is special.”

Merlin swatted a glowing butterfly out of his hair and glared. “Arthur, I have been working on this for SIX DAYS. It’s perfect.”

“Not as perfect as Guinevere.”

“Stop!” Merlin cried and threw his arms into the air, “Just stop! I don’t even care if it  _ is _ your anniversary Arthur, you’re being ridiculous. Here I am, slaving away day and night for your stupid party--”

“Are you saying my wedding anniversary is stupid? Watch yourself, Merlin.” Arthur said, but there was no heat in his voice.

“I’m being oppressed!”

“No, idiot. I made magic legal.”

“Exploited then!”

“Oh, so now I’m a slave master?”

“YES!”

“Well, I won’t deny I’m saving a few pretty pennies by having you do this,” Arthur said and rubbed his forehead, torn between amusement and sudden exhaustion over Merlin’s grumblings. “Just put a few more flowers up, will you? The musicians arrive in less than an hour, and if it’s not looking perfect by then--”

“Yes, yes, I’ll hang from a gibbet--go and get dressed dollop-head.” Merlin waved him away with one hand and bit his fingernail on the other. Already some of the vines were spreading out and growing new buds. A small cloud of blue butterflies took flight, startled by the movement. 

“Perfect, remember?” Arthur said, but Merlin didn’t notice. He was frowning at the flowers and muttering Latin under his breath. Arthur stepped quietly away. 

When he got to the doorway he looked back into the main hall. Servants were scurrying about, shooting a mixture of admiring or suspicious glances at the Court Warlock as they went, but Merlin didn’t notice. Dressed in nice--albeit slightly shabby--clothes, it was impossible to tell he was a powerful mage. Unless, of course, you happened to see the floating magic bubbles and illusionary butterflies hovering in the air next to him. It had only been a year since the ban on sorcery had been officially lifted, but Arthur was pleased with how quickly Camelot had accepted magic. There had been some animosity, yes, but hardly the fanatic uprising his counselors feared. Now, with the help of sorcery, the kingdom was stronger than ever.

_ If it wasn’t for Merlin _ , he thought, remembering last year’s mayhem,  _ this never would have happened. _ Then he smiled and called for George to help him dress; it wouldn’t hurt to let Merlin do his real job for once.

As he left the hall, Arthur spared another smile for his friend, who was absently building imaginary bird nests in the eaves.

 

                                                                                                                                      ***

 

Most of the guests had arrived a few days prior, but a few trickled in at the last minute, either purposefully reminding Arthur who his allies were, or desperately trying not to be tardy and offend him. The musicians came neither early nor late, and almost entirely unnoticed. It was only when the first notes of music echoed in the hall that Merlin remembered they were there; a quite troupe whose stillness clashed with their bright clothing. 

They played a waltz, beautiful and foreign, to open the celebration. There wasn’t much dancing in Camelot--for reasons unknown. Personally, Merlin thought that Uther must have had two left feet, and Arthur, for all his gifts, had inherited that. Merlin was pleased when his king awkwardly led Guinevere through a short dance and retreated back to his table stiff and uncomfortable.

“Bloody foreign practices,” he grumbled, then saw Merlin’s smirk. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replied, leaning closer to the king’s ear. “only that was an interesting technique--do you always trip on your wife’s feet?”

“Shut up,” he growled. “Or next time I’ll put your seat somewhere else. Outside maybe.”

Merlin snorted, and George raised an eyebrow from his place behind Arthur’s chair. Even he knew that wouldn’t happen.

Some of the guests took to the dance floor, but it was not the main attraction, and it died away as the food was brought out. Roast beef, venison, fowl, and fresh bread...if there was one perk to being a member of the court, Merlin decided, eagerly picking up his knife, it was the endless amount of fresh food. 

Gwen and Arthur were chatting amiably, and Merlin joined in on the conversation between bites, occasionally swatting one of his butterflies away from the garnish.  _ Next time _ , he thought,  _ no insects. _

The music swelled and he closed his eyes as harps strummed and strings were twanged; a peaceful feeling washed over him.  _ Giaus would like this _ , he thought, but the physician was laid up in bed with a fever and couldn’t attend. Merlin silently vowed to bring him a few dinner rolls out of pity.

The knights laughed a few seats down, Gwaine loudest of all. He could sniff out ale, wine, or mead faster than a hound could track a deer...and down it ever faster by the sound of it. Merlin would have to tell the serving girls to water down any refills for Gwaine’s last remaining shreds of dignity if nothing else. 

All was well, and he was surrounded by the best of people. Merlin smiled into his goblet; to think that only a year ago he was a servant--not mistreated, but certainly not allowed to eat at the feasts--and now he sat at the king’s left hand, magic and all. He twisted the ring on his finger, a dragon coiled around a druidic symbol, and smiled.

The music faded like the last rays of sunshine behind a cloud. Merlin blinked, surprised at the silence. Arthur stopped talking to Gwen as the musician’s conductor approached the head table.

He was a tall, thin man with receding hair and a well-mended coat. The gold buttons on his doublet were polished to perfection, along with his boots and a small, ruby earring on his left ear that hinted at a wilder youth.

“Why the delay?” Arthur asked, “Is there a problem?”

The man bowed until his nose touched the floor.

“No, your majesty,” he said, “I am Hroth, conductor of these minstrels you have so graciously invited into your halls. I come with a humble request, which I plead you to consider.”

“Your music has captivated us all, and I would be delighted to reward you,” Arthur said, “state your desire.”

Hroth bowed lower and Merlin marveled; that man’s spine had to be magical.

“My lord, I am pleased you would grant such generosity to one such as I. But it is not me who asks for this favor, and I do not seek gold.”

Hroth motioned to the musicians, and a woman stepped out from their silent company. She joined Hroth before the table and bowed gracefully. Her dark hair was bound tightly to her head in an intricate knot that added inches to her height, but she was still dwarfed beside the conductor. In her thin arms, she held a lute, battered but carefully polished. Merlin’s heart stopped when he looked at her. 

“Your Highness,” Hroth continued, “my only desire is to bless you and your household with pleasing music. Please allow my finest player to perform for you unhindered by our lesser skill.”

Merlin took a sip of wine, closed his eyes, and counted to three. When he opened them, the woman was still there.

“You praise her highly,” Arthur said, “I would be delighted.”

Hroth nodded and backed into the arms of his troupe. The woman readied her instrument, flexed her fingers, and played.

It was like water had been given life. A melody pure and longing pierced Merlin’s soul, and it took another gulp of wine to stop his tears. She played like a woman who had lost love so dear it drowned her soul. Each note lingered on her skin like a raindrop, containing emotion deep and true. 

Finally, like a sleeper waking from a long dream, it ceased, and she was standing silently in the great hall, fingers rested on the well-worn strings of her instrument. A woman wept quietly in the corner as butterflies flapped listlessly above their heads. Merlin unclenched his fists and breathed deeply. But when they started to shake, he closed them again.

Arthur stood and raised his cup.

“Never have I heard such fine music in my halls,” he said, “maiden, pray tell me your name so I can honor your gift.”

The woman looked up at him, dark eyes large and doleful. Her eyes met with Merlin’s, and a smile almost met her lips before she lowered her face again.

“Freya,” she said quietly, “my lord.”

“What gift would I give to one so talented as yourself? Truly, you have enchanted us all,” he said.

“A minstrel’s only wish is to play for those who will listen,” was her answer.

“Very well, I am happy to grant you leave to abide in Camelot with the rest of your troup until your wandering hearts bid you to continue your journey,” Arthur said. “A toast to Freya, the finest player in Camelot!” 

The court raised their goblets and cheered, clapping and begging for another tune. Arthur laughed and sat, sipping his red wine satisfactorily. 

“What a find, and on our anniversary no less!” he said, “isn’t she marvelous Gwen?”

“She is sire,” she replied, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. 

“What do you say Merlin--Merlin?”

Arthur nudged him and Merlin startled, nearly knocking over his cup.

“I--what?” he said.

“Isn’t this Freya remarkable?” Arthur repeated, nodding towards the girl only thirty feet away, who rejoined the ranks of the music troupe. “So talented, it’s unbelievable...Merlin, is something wrong?”

“N-no my lord,” he said, “--uh--she’s...one of a kind.”

“Agreed. Now, let’s see if we can’t get her to play another tune,” the king of Camelot chuckled, motioning for Hroth to come forward.

Merlin did not hear the praises Arthur gave the musicians or the court’s chatter about this mystery woman. His eyes were fixed on Freya’s small form, so close and perfect, silently running her hands over the lute’s neck. She was beautiful and unchanged. But Merlin couldn’t be happy--after all, Freya was dead.


	2. Magic, and Nothing More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is really short; sorry, tough beans.

 

Arthur announced that the feast was a raging success, but Merlin couldn’t think of any words to describe it; he couldn’t think of any words at all. The guests stumbled to their rooms or horses, happy and full of gossip, while servants slunk in and began picking at leftovers. Arthur, oddly generous on his anniversary, offered to help carry a drunken Gwaine to his rooms while Gwen was busy talking with some persistent old ladies. 

They turned the corner and were gone, but Gwaine’s slaughtered drinking song still echoed through the chamber, mixed with Freya’s last performance.

The servants cleared the last of the food and they too were gone. Then the hall was empty, and Merlin was finally alone.

He dropped the flower he’d been holding, watched it spin slowly until it hit the floor, and lifted a hand to his heart. The full moon shone through the citadel’s stained glass windows and made the normally bright colors unearthly. The window’s shadows were twisted into beastly silhouettes and serpentine patterns, while the king’s throne sat empty and cold on its dais. After the long celebration, the silence was welcome but heavy. 

His defenses were gone. What was the use of years of denial if one hint of a smile destroyed it all? 

_ It can’t have been Freya _ , he thought, twisting his shirt with the hand on his heart.  _ It can’t have been. _ Loneliness explained this; after years watching Gwen and Arthur be happy he was cracking and seeing old faces in a young girl’s face, that was all. Too devoted to forget her, but too weak to linger in solitude forever. Similar features and a shared name...is wasn’t impossible for such a coincidence to happen. 

And yet could he really confuse his lady’s face with another’s?    
Merlin bit his lip and wondered where the happiness he had felt mere hours ago had fled. 

 

                                                                                                                                       ***

 

Giaus was asleep when he slipped into the physician’s chambers; he was buried under a mountain of blankets and herbal remedies Merlin had prepared. The old man’s face was relaxed, but pale, and Merlin didn’t have the heart to wake him.

Darkness was no stranger to Merlin. Years of living in Uther’s court taught him how to move quickly but surely at night. He tiptoed past Giaus to one of the heavy, built-in bookshelves and pulled three thick volumes off the highest shelf, before heading to his room.

All went well until he tripped on a mop bucket and cursed. Giaus flinched but didn’t wake. Merlin--nursing a badly stubbed toe--reconsidered his stealth skills as he hobbled into his room. Maybe surviving Uther  _ was _ just luck, like Arthur insisted.

The thought was not encouraging, but it was more honest than thinking he was a master of subterfuge. According to Arthur, he couldn’t sneak past a sleeping guard in an empty hallway without tripping on his own feet and waking half the castle. 

Merlin curled up on his simple bed and sighed. Somewhere in the palace was a set of rooms prepared for the Court Warlock, but Merlin had never seen them. His home was with Giaus, and he wasn’t ever going to leave it. 

After conjuring a light to float above him, Merlin opened the first of the three tomes. Inside, scribbled carefully in the old tongue were hundreds of spells, all of them evil. The parchment was dry and stuck to his fingers, sometimes leaving smudges on his skin. Runes, symbols, and lists of ingredients danced on the pages like leaves in a whirlwind. An illustration of a knife, studded with knucklebones, caught his eye; it was said to raise the dead. Could it have brought Freya back?

In the second book, there was a mention that the cup of life would rebalance the scale of mortality. Merlin knew this was true, but without a body, it wouldn’t work, and Freya had been in the lake too long.

The third book said the dead never died, only slept and waited. When the living called, they answered, and sought out them out. There were no pictures and no other notes. Just a few shaky lines scratched onto the paper. He yawned, and a breeze made him lose his place in the book.

He clambered out of bed and retired the shutters. He should probably fix those before it got any colder… The room was chilled.

The bone knife seemed to glint on the first book’s pages, and the excerpt about the sleeping dead--written hastily compared to the usual calligraphy--unsettled him. Merlin closed the rest of the books, eyes heavy, and extinguished the light. 

An ache, long buried under happiness and duty, surfaced in his heart. He would not let himself cry, for he had not lost her. She had never come back in the first place; this was just an illusion, or phantom sent to haunt him. If he let his guard down, who knew what destruction it would unleash on Arthur?

As the Court Warlock of Camelot, it was his duty to unravel this magic...There was no other choice.

_ But what if _ \--he began to think, and ended the thought. There were no whats, no howevers. No Freya. 

Whatever his heart might say, she was magic, and nothing more.


	3. Knight Huddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how this happened but I love it.

The oddest thing about knights, Arthur decided, was the way they huddled. Gwaine, Percival, Leon, Elyan, and Lancelot had formed a circle, arms linked over their shoulders like a chain, and were chuckling quietly in a way that utterly disturbed their king.

“ _ What _ are you doing?” he asked, trying for stern but sounding confused.

“Celebrating!” a hung-over Gwaine shouted, then groaned painfully at the noise.

The knights chuckled again, and Arthur was intrigued enough to join the circle; Percival and Lancelot slipped their arms over his shoulders and indoctrinated their king into the red-cloaked huddle. The lesser knights looked on in envious horror as their king disappeared into its depths.

“Celebrating what?” Arthur asked, looking suspiciously at the knights. “It can’t be my wedding, that was yesterday.”

“No, no we celebrate no wedding,” Gwaine chortled, then groaned again. “Our…merry making comes from...aah...a far more satisfying turn of events.”

“What, is my wedding not happy enough for you?” he frowned.

“Your Highness, your wedding was wonderful, but it’s been a few years,” Leon pointed out.

“Years spent celebrating the continued happiness of two happy people,” Elyan added. 

“But last night,” Gwaine interrupted, grinning lopsidedly, “I spied the hand of destiny at work. Spring has finally come!”

Arthur’s curiosity plummeted.

He sighed and wormed out of the circle. The knights looked confused.

“Come on, we need to train,” Arthur said dully.

Lancelot raised an eyebrow; a habit they were all getting from Gaius. “Don’t you want to know what we saw?”

“There are enough rumors about Gwaine’s passion going around; frankly, I’m sick of them,” he said.

“HA!” Gwaine barked, only to wince and clutch his head. When he recovered he laughed again, “It’s not me, it’s Merlin!”

Arthur dropped his sword and rejoined the huddle.

“What?!” He hissed. “That’s impossible!”

“You should have seen him,” Leon chuckled, “utterly moonstruck.”

“An idiot in love,” Gwaine sighed, then sniffed. “I’m so happy for him.”

“Wait, wait, what are you talking about?” Arthur said, “I was sitting right by him and didn’t see anything odd.”

“Well, you  _ would’ve _ seen it if you weren’t making eyes at my sister all night,” Elyan commented.

“She’s my wife!”

“Just saying.” He shrugged.

In a moment of extreme restraint, Arthur decided to ignore that comment.

“Who?” he demanded.

“Freya,” the knights said together.

“Freya? Oh, the lute player.”

“He couldn’t take his eyes off her,” Gwaine supplied, smiling knowingly. “He didn’t eat a single bite after she played her piece;  _ not a single bite _ . And this is the same Merlin didn’t look twice at any of the fancy ladies you brought to Camelot when there was food on the table, your highness. There is only one conclusion; Merlin is in love!”

Arthur allowed himself ten seconds to process this. He thought back to the night before--annoyed now that he had been so preoccupied with Gwen--and considered his Warlock’s personality. 

“You’re saying…” he began, “that Merlin, who’s not had a girl in the ten years I’ve known him, fell in love at first sight like some fairy tale princess last night?”

“That’s what Gwaine says,” Percival said, nodding. “He knows about love.”

“I wouldn’t call Gwaine an expert on love, just charm,” Lancelot said wryly, “but I happen to agree with him this time.”

“You’ve  _ got _ to be kidding,” Arthur said. “This is ridiculous.”

“Why?” Gwaine demanded, “what’s so strange about falling in love?”

“Nothing is strange about love,” Arthur said, wishing his hands weren’t linked to Percival and Lancelot in the huddle. He wanted to literally wave the problem away. “But...come on, it’s  _ Merlin _ .”

“Just because he hasn’t shown any interest in someone until now doesn’t mean he can’t,” Gwaine frowned. “I know what I saw, and if there’s a chance Merlin can find someone to be happy with I want to support him in every way possible.”

The conversation faded and each night looked at the grass, considering everything Merlin had done for Camelot. Arthur didn’t know  _ what _ to say, this was more than a shock, it was an armed ambush, and he was completely unprepared to deal with it.

“Are you saying he’s not happy right now?” he said quietly. “As Court Warlock?”

Gwaine had the decency to look guilty. “No, my lord, but there are different kinds of happiness. I’m sure you were happy before Gwen was your wife, but now...isn’t it fuller, more complete?”

If only he could deny those words; then, he wouldn’t have this sadness seeping into him, picturing Merlin alone every night as the years wore on. 

“I just... can't picture it,” he admitted, frustration tinging his voice, “Merlin in love? It’d be like Giaus getting married, or Gwaine settling down.”

“Hey,” Gwaine coughed, “I just haven’t found the right girl.”

“Sir,” Leon broke in, before the conversation deviated, “might I make a suggestion?”

Arthur nodded.

“If you’re not sure what to believe, confirm the truth. We all saw Merlin last night, and he was thunderstruck. Maybe if you saw him with this Freya girl you’d understand--it was not a light feeling in his eyes. Perhaps it is time to help Merlin find greater happiness...Percival, what do those people on the continent say?”

“We’ve got to be their cupid,” Percival grinned. 

“You mean--” Arthur began.

“Set them up,” Gwaine said. 

“Play matchmaker,” Elyan grinned.

“Or at least point him in the right direction,” Leon said.

His knights nodded in determination, united in a just cause. Arthur felt a kinship between them that had not occurred since their last great battle. If this truly was the decision of his most trusted knights, who was he to stop them?

“But your highness,” Leon said, looking directly into Arthur’s eyes, “remember, this is our Merlin; the same clumsy, silly, talkative friend we’ve known for years...we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

Arthur instantly pictured Merlin tripping into the girl and spilling wine on her dress, falling into a muddy puddle, or breaking his neck on a horse ride. Warlock or no, he was still a klutzy idiot.

“You’re right,” he said, then took a deep breath to steel his resolve. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Then, we are decided?” Elyan dared anyone to disagree.

All the knights nodded, and in unison screamed “CUPIIIIID!” and broke the huddle. 

Wordlessly, they picked up their swords and ignored the stares of the other knights. Arthur partnered with Percival, pumped for action. All their matches were intense and brutal because none of them could contain their apprehension. They’d won many wars, but would that experience be enough to land Merlin a girl?

Arthur, when the battle-rage subsided slightly, made a mental list of things to do.

First was to get proof that Merlin was actually lovestruck. Their plans would be useless if the dollop-head wasn’t.

Second was to find out what ‘cupid’ meant. What was it, Greek? Based on the context, he could guess the meaning, but he’d rather know exactly what it meant so he wouldn’t embarrass himself like he had with other phrases. Just where did Percival learn such a niche word anyway?

A low groan from the corner of the field answered Arthur’s question. Ah, it had been Gwaine. Of course, it had been him; who else knew such a stupidly romantic word? 


	4. A Strange Kind of Love

Merlin spent the morning tending to Gaius, who was in a bad way. The fever had gotten worse, despite the piles of remedies surrounding him, so Merlin put his personal matters aside and tried to focus on healing his surrogate grandfather. But every packet of herbs reminded him of nights spent underground, tending deep hurts and smiling shyly at a sweet, hopelessly beautiful, girl. 

Gaius only woke a few times to eat, and if he noticed anything was odd about his ward, he was too sick to say so. Therefore, it wasn’t until Arthur barged in around noon that Merlin had to worry about looking cheerful and unburdened.

“Merlin, just how much rest do you need?” Arthur demanded, then saw Gaius. “Oh. How is he?”

“Been better,” Merlin said truthfully, “I’m doing everything I can...It came out of nowhere.”   
Arthur nodded, trying to school his face into an expression of sympathy. Merlin had no doubt that Arthur felt worried and horrible, but he was bad at emotional things. Ten years watching Arthur try to be sensitive made Merlin almost impervious to cringing, so he continued grinding herbs into a poultice. Finally, when the silent sympathy obviously wasn’t going to cut it, Arthur settled for patting Merlin’s back and nodding in a manly, understanding way. 

“Thanks…” Merlin said, appreciating the effort. Gwen must have been giving him lessons in empathy. 

“I was going to berate you for missing breakfast with me and Gwen,” Arthur said, “but I’ll forgive you this once, as long as you make it to dinner.”

“Sorry, I can’t,” Merlin said.

“What?”

“I, uh, can’t,” he repeated. “I’m busy.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow dubiously. “Busy?” he said slowly, “too busy for best friends?”

Merlin blinked in surprise; did Arthur just say best friends?  _ But I haven’t saved his life in months _ …  _ Something’s going on. _ He thought.

“I have to look after Gaius,” he said honestly. “His condition worries me…” And there was also a couple more necromancy books he had to pour through tonight. But Arthur’s slightly disappointed face made him add guiltily, “...But I’m sure I can spare an hour or so...”

Arthur smiled and clasped Merlin’s hand. “Excellent! I’ll see you then--don’t worry, George will take care of your chores today.”

“Chores?” Merlin echoed. “I don’t have any chores.”

Arthur walked away whistling. When he got to the door he shook his head and tutted; “Oh Merlin, you simple fool, it must be so nice living without responsibility or professional duties. Perhaps I should assign you to more serious tasks so you can learn about being a leader to the people.”

“That’s unusually eloquent. Did you practice saying it before you came here?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and discarded the purple prose. “You forgot to disenchant the main hall, idiot. George has been catching butterflies all day. And you say I’m the dumb one. Honestly.”

He left before Merlin could come up with a witty comment. The High Warlock stared, wide-eyed after the Once and Future King, holding a herb-soaked rag in one hand and a damp washcloth in the other. Last night was a blur, but did he really forget to stop all that magic?

Frowning, he felt out for the spells he had cast last night and winced. Yep, still up and running. With a few muttered counterspells the illusions collapsed; no need for him to leave his chambers, fortunately. But, on the downside, the gardener would need to untangle the ivy he’d grown on the walls. That was completely authentic

Gaius groaned and Merlin dabbed his forehead with an herbal remedy, putting the problem of the main hall aside. He was busy. George could handle it; George could handle anything.

***

 

Merlin had been a bit odd, Arthur decided after leaving Gaius's chambers, but then again, one of his family members was very ill. Arthur wouldn’t call it ‘gravely’ ill yet, but if it worsened...well, not wonder Merlin had been cooped up with him all day. 

At least phase one was going smoothly; a not-so-subtle request to Gwen assured that the musician girl would be at dinner with them--a  _ private _ dinner, just in case Merlin made a fool of himself. Getting Gwen on his side meant a full confession, but he was always rubbish at keeping secrets from her; she would have found out eventually. Besides, the whole operation seemed funny to her, as it had to Arthur at first...But after the knight huddle, he was willing to look a little silly. Merlin’s happiness was worth it.

“Is everything ready?” he asked Gwen when he got back to their rooms.

“For the thousandth time, yes,” she said, smiling. “There’s hours before dinner, and we still have a meeting with the counselors. Come on Arthur, let’s go.”

She grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the room.

“I just got back, let me rest,” he pleaded half-heartedly.

“It’s not my fault you spent you downtime plotting with your knights,” she said, “next time you want a break to think it through first. Now hurry, we need to talk about grain. You love those conversations.”

“About as much as I love Gwaine when he’s drunk,” Arthur grumbled, but he knew when to give in.

 

***

 

Merlin woke up with a headache. He weakly rubbed his eyes, staring uncomprehendingly at the blurred words on the book that had been his pillow. What happened? He’d been reading through one of the necromancy books--just skimming really, he’d read this one before--and then…and then his eyes had drooped and a warm, fuzzy feeling had settled in his brain. Before he’d had a chance to pinch himself he’d been asleep. But how long was he out?

Merlin yawned and glanced at the window; sunset, and a pretty one at that. All orange and red...red...red...like a knight’s cloak. Or Arthur’s face when he got angry.

“Oh no!” he cried, leaping to his feet, then tripping on the same mop bucket from last night. He stumbled back up and shook off the last dregs of his nap. “Arthur’s going to kill me!”

He rushed out of Gaius's chambers after making sure the old man was well and sprinted to Arthur’s private quarters. He promised to come, and look at him now, running late!

Merlin didn’t even knock, just barrelled into the room, panting for breath. 

“S-Sorry!” He gasped, hands on his knees, “I-I’m late.”

“Ah, Merlin, there you are!” Arthur said in an airy, unconcerned voice that made the hairs on Merlin’s neck stand on end. “We were just talking about you. Come sit down. I’d like to properly introduce you to our guest.”

Merlin looked up and paled.

When it was obvious Merlin wasn’t obeying, Arthur sighed. 

“I’m sorry, as you can see, he’s a bit of an idiot,” he said, “Merlin, this is Freya, the lovely lady who played for us last night. I thought you might like to meet her in person...Merlin?”

She was sitting across from the king, dressed in the same dress as last night. It was pretty but could have been a potato sack for all Merlin cared. Her pale skin and friendly face were restrained, but her smile deepened when she looked at him. 

He straightened, fighting between a smile and a grimace. An indecisive frown won out. While not glowing with energy, she was bright with life, vivid and perfect.

Suspending suspicion would be fatal if necromancy was involved. He couldn’t take any chances with this apparition, Freya or no. And yet, his heart wasn’t listening. If there was any chance this wasn’t a dream or some cruel hoax, he would regret letting it pass by forever. 

Merlin fumbled for a seat beside her, terrified but hopeful. The weight of his role bore down on him, for once at odds with his heart’s desire. Arthur muttered something to Gwen, who chuckled, and Freya’s smile was even more pronounced. Merlin curled his hands into fists at his side and forced himself not to smile too.

 

                                                                                                                                    ***

 

Arthur wasn’t worried that Merlin was late. Experience taught him that the Warlock couldn’t get anywhere on time to save his life. Which was why he told Merlin to come half an hour early.

So, when Merlin was still late, he was concerned. 

Freya sat in front of them, looking a little pensive, but not thoroughly cowed. She was pretty, but not as pretty as Gwen, and had a mysterious air, like a riddle he hadn’t figured out.

Gwen, bless her, made small talk.

“Thank you for joining us Freya,” she said, “I hope you aren’t nervous. This isn’t meant to be a formal event.”

“Oh, no...milady,” Freya said, a tad nervously. “I’m just a bit... scared. I haven’t been in front of royalty much.”

“Don’t worry,” Gwen smiled, “we’re people too. Tell me, where are you from?”

“Oh, well, I doubt I belong anywhere now...although, there was a lake and a mountain where I…”

Her reverie was interrupted when the doors banged open and Merlin stumbled inside, completely out of breath. 

“S-sorry!” he gasped, “I-I’m late.”

His hair was a bird’s nest, his jacket rumpled and--good grief!--he was dressed like a peasant.  _ I should’ve told him we had a guest _ , Arthur cursed, but it was too late. Best to pretend nothing was wrong. 

“Ah, Merlin, there you are!” he said lightly, “We were just talking about you.” A complete lie. “Come sit down. I’d like to properly introduce you to our guest.”

Merlin looked up and turned as white as a sheet, his eyes the size of dinner plates. Then his face did a weird, flip-flopping grimace to smile, settling on an uncomfortable frown.

So much for love, this looked like sheer terror, Arthur sighed. Looks like Gwaine was wrong, as usual.

“I’m sorry, as you can see, he’s a bit of an idiot,” he said to Freya, “Merlin, this is Freya, the lovely lady who played for us last night. I thought you might like to meet her in person...Merlin?”

He looked back at his manservant--no, his Warlock, with concern. A series of complicated expressions was rapidly playing across Merlin’s face, but too quickly for him to read. All Arthur knew that Leon was right; whatever this was, it was no light feeling. But if it wasn’t love, then what?

Slowly, Merlin edged closer to the table and tripped into a chair.

“Think this is love?” he whispered to Gwen skeptically. 

His wife chuckled quietly and broke the bread.

Arthur was not a people watcher; aside from his father, there hadn’t been a great need to identify anybody’s moods. He was the prince (and later king) so people had to put up with him, not the other way around. Merlin was the only exception to that, and even after years of observation, he proved incredibly hard to get a read on sometimes. Right now, for instance, he couldn’t tell if his friend was enchanted by Freya or terrified by her. 

He barely touched his food, hardly spoke, and looked down at his hands nearly the entire time. When he did glance up, it was always a furtive glance at the girl, who looked incredibly happy to see him, and not at all nervous in front of the Court Warlock, most powerful sorcerer in Camelot. It was like watching a young squire with his first fancy; incredibly awkward, uncomfortable, and bewildering. 

_ I’ve made a grave mistake _ , he thought,  _ Merlin needed to court a girl way sooner than this. He’s completely hopeless! _

Finally, after nearly an hour of stilted conversation that even Gwen couldn’t best, Freya asked to be excused; she was still tired from her long journey and needed rest. On her way out, Arthur thought she dropped something, but it must have been his imagination. She quietly closed the door behind her and was gone.

Arthur turned to Merlin, gearing up to tell him just what he thought about his social skills when the Warlock bolted to his feet.

“I’m sorry, sire,” he said quickly, still pale as a ghost, “I really need to--um--get back to Gaius now. ThankyoufordinnerbyeGwen!”

Then he nearly broke his nose on the doors and dashed away. His footsteps echoed in the distance, fading with alarming speed. The door rocked on its hinge, banging lightly against the wall as if Merlin had created a wind by running so fast.

Arthur to turned to Gwen.

“What the devil was that?” he asked.

She shook her head, speechless, the shrugged.

“Love?”

 


	5. Reborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one. Don't worry, some of the later ones are waaaay too long.

Merlin’s hands shook, so he clasped them together. That was close. He’d nearly given in, and it had been so hard to stay composed...if he could even call it that. Arthur had looked worried, to put it lightly, and Gwen had subtly taken his knife from him when Freya wasn’t looking as if he’d accidentally cut himself with it.

If he wound up in another dinner with her, he probably would. This had to end. 

He his in an alcove in an empty hallway and slowly unraveled the handkerchief Freya had dropped. He’d caught it with magic before anyone could see it, and before he’d thought better of it.

Inside the simple piece of cloth was a forget-me-not flower and a note. 

_ Please, Merlin, let me explain. I cannot bear to hide the truth from you. --Freya. _

He slowly folded the paper, a choice playing out in his head. Two possibilities...but what should he do? After an hour of uninterrupted thinking, he decided on the crueler one. 

  
  


                                                                                                                                           ***

  
  


At midnight he left his room and walked to one of the guard towers. There was a patrol at night, but he’d rather be within shouting distance if something went wrong.

He sat on the ledge, looked down fifty feet, and wondered what it would feel like to fall so far? Probably not good. The ring on his finger felt tight, but he refused to take it off. It was a symbol of trust between him and Arthur, even if it was too small.

An unsure set of footsteps alerted him. Freya rounded the corner, pale and nervous, but even that could not dim the hope on her face.

Merlin stood but did not approach.

Her face fell a little, and she walked closer.

“Who are you?” Merlin demanded.

“It’s me Merlin, Freya,” she said with a faltering smile. “Don’t you remember me?”

“Freya is dead,” Merlin said tightly, upset that he couldn’t control his emotions better. “You can’t be her. Or if you are...then you are under the influence of dark magic and it is--it is my duty as Warlock of Camelot to--” he let the sob enter his voice, “to kill you.”

Had she been a monster, or sinister creature, she would have done something--anything, to persuade him this wasn’t the case. But Freya just smiled the same, sweet smile she had when she was alive, and said, “I know.”

Merlin raised his hand and chanted an absolution of unlife. His eyes glowed gold and power coursed through him.  _ This will kill her _ , he thought, and a piece of his heart shattered.

The spell fizzled out, and a tear trickled down Merlin’s cheek. He couldn’t do it; he couldn’t hurt her.

“H-How?” he cried, “How are you here?”

Freya stood there, unchanged except for her smile.

“I know you’re scared,” she said, “but I am not under a dark spell...Merlin,” she stepped closer and touched his cheek. An expression of joy filled her features, “Merlin, I’m  _ alive _ .”

He sank to his knees; what else could he do? He hugged Freya, felt her heartbeat against his, and cried. 

“How is this possible?” He asked once the tears had settled.

The moon was still near full, and it illuminated more than enough for them to see each other’s faces. Freya looked down and played with the hem of her skirt.

“I’m not entirely sure,” she began. “I was in the lake, where I belonged when I felt a hand pull me up from the depths. It was like a bright light guided me back. I could’ve stayed down there, but I didn’t...all I could think about was you.”

She looked up at Merlin, and he saw the same fear that had been there when he saved her from the slavers. But there was love in her face that was battling with the fear, helping her tell her story. He squeezed her hand in encouragement, and she smiled and continued.

“I woke up on the banks, dressed in my burial clothes,” she said. “I felt...reborn and alive. Look,”

She held out her arm, and the druidic symbol that cursed her was gone. Just...gone.

“Impossible,” Merlin breathed, taking a closer look. “It’s like it never even existed.”

“Isn’t it amazing?” she had tears in the corners of her eyes. “I don’t know why Merlin, but I was brought back to you. I’m alive, I’m free, and I can live in Camelot.”

He didn’t know what to say, so instead, he kissed her. Just once, and then he smiled. For the first time in ten years, he felt a happiness that had eluded him since her death. That was enough to dispel any doubts. Freya was back, and he was never letting her go.

 


	6. Knight Watch

The knights were despairing over Merlin’s incompetence when they saw him bring flowers to Freya. 

It was a full bouquet, full of handpicked wildflowers and herbs--just the sort of thing Merlin would put together for a patient, except for the lovely lilies and tulips interspersed between the forget-me-nots. And the dollop blushed--actually  _ blushed _ when he handed them to her and leaned in to peck her on the cheek. 

Even more bewildering, was that Freya didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she looked thrilled.

Gwaine ribbed Lancelot out of his stupor and stepped on Elayn’s toes.

“Ow!”

“What was that--”

“Men,” Gwaine said, dead serious, “this is no time for bickering. We have to tell Arthur about this.  _ Now. _ ”

They both nodded.

“Elyan, you go,” Gwaine said.

“What?--no.”

“Yes.” he pushed the knight away, eyes still fixed on Merlin and Freya, who were strolling hand in hand towards the lower town.

Lancelot nodded distractedly, mouthing words to himself as he watched Merlin smile giddily at his mystery girl. Merlin, who had been so shy he had literally run from the dinner table a few days ago.

Elyan grumbled something about ganging up and left, running to the citadel faster than he did in training. Merlin and Freya were disappearing into the lower town. Lancelot looked at Gwaine.

“What do we do?” he asked...

Gwaine looked at his companion, scandalized.

“We follow them, idiot.”

 

***

 

The afternoon proved one thing to them; Merlin was completely and hopelessly in love. It showed on his face, and even more in his actions. He couldn’t take his eyes off Freya, much less walk three feet without running into something, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

Lancelot was confused over the abrupt change, but Gwaine took it in stride. 

“A man’s gotta build his confidence, I say,” was his take on the matter. “Once he’s got that, nothing can stop him!”

But it still bothered Lancelot. Something didn’t sit right with him, although he couldn’t be sure what. Maybe it was the depth of love in Merlin’s eyes when he looked at Freya, so wholly committed to the lady in front of him that the world vanished. Lancelot wasn’t one to talk, given his past with Guinevere, but he knew love like that didn’t normally happen so fast.

Merlin began braiding flowers into Freya’s hair. She smiled shyly and leaned in closer. 

“Come on Merlin, kiss her!!” Gwaine hissed.

The Court Warlock chose that moment to look up. His eyebrows shot up when he noticed them and Lancelot coughed awkwardly. Gwaine, however, waved and nodded encouragingly. Merlin grinned, waved back, and started talking to the girl, pointing at them occasionally. Then he dragged her over to them.

“Well, our mission failed,” Lancelot sighed.

“Lance, Gwaine, how are you?” Merlin asked brightly. He didn’t seem that upset about his date being crashed.

“Not nearly as happy as you,” Gwaine remarked. “Care to introduce us?”

“This is Freya,” Merlin said. “Freya, this is Sir Gwaine and Sir Lancelot.”

“Sirs,” she muttered with a curtsy.

“Don’t be so formal,” Gwaine laughed, grappling Merlin into a one-armed hug, “any friend of Merlin is a friend of ours.”

Freya smiled nervously but kept a close grip on Merlin’s arm. She absently rubbed her side; the poor girl probably wasn’t used to being around knights.

“It’s alright,” Merlin muttered to her.

“What do you say, shall we all go get some grub?” Gwaine suggested, oblivious to the exchange, “I hear The Rising Sun has strawberries.”

“Really?” Merlin asked.

“It is past lunch time,” Lancelot agreed, looking at the sky. “Why not? we’re off duty.”

“Great, then let’s go!” Gwaine said, grabbing Lancelot with his other arm.

“Pardon sirs,” Freya muttered, “I’m needed back at the castle. King Arthur wants another performance soon and I need to practice with the others…”

“Oh, of course, pardon us,” Lancelot said, cutting off Gwaine’s sigh with an elbow. “We won’t keep you.”

“Are you sure Freya?” Merlin said, looking confused. “There are strawberries.”

“Save me some?”

“All of them,” he agreed.

Freya stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, then scuttled away, almost as red as him.

“Come back soon sweetheart!” Gwaine called. 

Merlin waved her goodbye, but maybe he was just fanning the beet-red blush off his face.

“You sure move fast, mate,” Gwaine chuckled. “All our plans are useless now.”

“Plans?” Merlin echoed, finally turning back to his normal color. 

“We saw you staring at her at the feast,” Lancelot explained, “and thought you might need some help.”

“T-Thanks,” Merlin managed. 

“How did you do it?” Gwaine marveled, “she’s completely taken with you.”

Merlin ducked his head, but Lancelot could see his grin.

“Actually...Well...It’s a long story.” He mumbled. 

“I’ve got time to listen,” Gwaine said, and steered them to the tavern.

It took a few drinks, but they got Merlin to talk about a shy druid girl from many years ago, their brief encounter, and a sad parting due to Uther’s ban. He spared them the druid curse and tragedy at the end, implying that her flight was successful, only they’d never see each other again. Gwaine tearfully promised to give them a bucket of strawberries every week, and Lancelot put aside his unfounded misgivings, proud that Merlin was finally reunited with his love. 

  
  


                                                                                                                                              ***

 

Arthur wasn’t so overjoyed, but that was because of Gwaine.

“I mean,  _ I’m  _ happy for him, but I know it’s hard for  _ you, _ Arthur,” Gwaine said again, relishing the annoyance on his king’s face. “After all, Merlin finally has the love of his life back, but what if he’s so distracted he forgets you--oh, wait, he already has! Sad times when our king doesn’t have a built-in best friend--”

“Shut up Gwaine,” Arthur growled over his papers.

“Alright,” he said, putting his hands up. Perhaps that was going a bit too far. “But you know I’m serious...about the being happy for him part, anyway,”

“I know,” he sighed. “I just wish you’d stop chattering about it for one minute.”

Gwaine counted to sixty.

“So, as I was saying--”

“GET OUT!”

Gwaine shut the door behind him, chuckling. George approached with Arthur’s lunch and frowned disapprovingly. Gwaine grinned, swiped the apple off the tray, and ran.  George yelled “Treason!” but Arthur just told him to pipe down, and Gwaine was sitting pretty on one of the inner walls before long, munching on his hard-earned spoils.

He thought about Merlin and was truly happy. He hadn’t known how much he’d wanted to see Merlin happy until he caught a glimpse of his face at the feast, so full of sorrow and longing that even his drunken heart was softened. How much Merlin had given up for Arthur didn’t hit home until then, but then he wondered what else his friend kept hidden from him. What else he had sacrificed for Camelot. 

If there was one man in the whole world who deserved happiness, it was Merlin. And Gwaine would do anything to see that happen.

He chucked the apple core into the pig pen and dusted off his breeches. Spying a flutist making her way to the kitchens, he hurriedly followed after. He had a lot of work to do, getting to know Freya, but he wanted the best for Merlin, so it was only right to do some research on the girl of his dreams. 

And the flutist was pretty too.

 

                                                                                                                                          ***

 

Meanwhile, Arthur frowned; Gwaine wouldn’t stop badgering him about Freya. Pretty soon it would be impossible for him to like her, simply because he was sick of his knight’s chattering. 

And also because Merlin had been very odd the last couple days. Not just Merlin-odd, but full-out clownish. Maybe that was what happened when a clumsy, honest person like him fell head over heels for a pretty girl. Maybe. But Arthur sure didn’t remember acting like that for Gwen. Of course, that could have because his father would have executed her if he hadn’t been discreet. 

“Let’s face it, I’m the last person who could give love advice,” he sighed, “some cupid I am.”

He idly signed his name on the document he just finished reading as Gwen walked in.

She rubbed his back, right on the knot that always ached after hours of busywork, and tousled his hair.

“You’re doing great,” she said, “don’t you see how happy Merlin is? Your plan was a success.”

“My plan,” Arthur remarked, “didn’t even get off the ground. One moment Merlin is paralyzed with this weird love-fear, the next they’re galavanting through town like newlyweds! I don’t understand it--does love really change someone so drastically?”

Gwen sighed; she understood him. Both of them had changed for the better, but it had been gradual.

“Maybe, Arthur,” she said, “love is different for each person. Let’s just see how it goes. You’re not jealous of Freya, are you?”

Arthur thought about it.

“Maybe a little; since when have you given me flowers?” he smirked.

“Well, when was the last time you went on a walk with me?” Gwen replied, arching an eyebrow.

Arthur chuckled and clasped his wife’s hand. 

“I guess I can put up with Gwaine a little longer,” he sighed. “For Merlin.” 

“You’re a good friend,” Gwen said.

“No, the best,” Arthur replied, and she couldn’t help but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to write whump when Merlin wants to be happy so bad. What a sweetheart. T-T


	7. Doubts

“I don’t think you should tell him,” Freya said, stopping Merlin before he could drag her further down the corridor.

“Why not? Gaius will love you,” he replied. 

She looked up, doleful eyes wide and worried. “But, my curse…”

“Is gone. Don’t worry Freya, it’s alright,” he said, taking her arm. “And he’s like a father to me; I want him to know.”

Freya bit her lip and shuffled nervously. 

“Won’t he think I’m a ghost?” she asked.

“Well…” Merlin didn’t have the heart to lie. “Gaius knows a lot about magic. He would want to make sure you weren’t. But he won’t hurt you, I promise.”

“I spent my whole life hiding and running,” she said, “I don’t want to be poked or prodded anymore.”

“He won’t--and magic is legal now; you won’t be hunted. Please Freya,” Merlin said, “this is important to me.”

He started leading her down the hall again. They were only a few doors from Gaius’s chambers, and he was determined to get her there.

“But...he’s ill, isn’t he?” she said, stopping again. “I don’t want to startle him...he’s an old man, the shock could stop his heart.”

“He’s been getting better, although it’s hard for him to talk,” he said defensively. “We’ll take it slow.”

“I don’t know…” She said. “It could be too much...what if he says I should still be dead?”

“Gaius would be happy to know you’re alive,” Merlin said, a little hurt. “He would never say something like that.”

She shook her head.

“Really?” she whispered. “I thought  _ you _ would be happy, but…”

Merlin winced and thought guiltily back to the necromancy books littering his room. His reaction certainly hadn’t been perfect. Carefully, he took Freya’s hands and squeezed them gently. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think it was possible. I couldn’t find any spell that brings back the dead without an evil purpose, so I thought…”

“I know,” Freya said, a sad smile flitting across her face, “And I’m really here Merlin, I promise. The magic that saved me was good, I felt it in my soul. But not everybody is as willing to believe as you were.”

Gaius wouldn’t believe, that’s what she was saying. Merlin swallowed hard; sure, maybe the two of them never met, but surely Freya could have more faith in his family.

“I can’t hide this from him,” Merlin insisted, “Gaius is like my father, I can’t lie to him. And I want him to meet you;  you’ll love him Freya!”

“Merlin,” she said, biting her lip, “I want to meet him too, I’m just scared. Can’t we wait until he’s better, and break it to him a little bit at a time?”

Merlin’s heart sunk. Freya looked so vulnerable, so scared, but Gaius…

“For me?” she said, looking up at him with her doleful brown eyes. 

What would happen if she was suspected? He imagined Gaius casting suspicious looks at Freya and telling him to be careful. Gaius would mean well--he always did, but Freya didn’t deserve that kind of strain, not after everything she’d been through. Maybe she was right, he could wait a little longer to tell him. It wouldn’t be the first time he hid something from Gaius, and it wouldn’t be permanent. The old physician was improving every day; it would only be a few days before he was better, and then he could tell him the truth.

“Okay,” he told her, “but we tell him as soon as possible once he’s better.”

Freya smiled. “Of course.”

She led him away from the physician's chambers, quietly talking about their plans. Merlin looked back at the door, closed shut, and felt a pang of regret. He’d start laying subtle hints at dinner, prep Gaius for things so it wouldn’t be such a big shock...Then Freya caught his attention and he put the problem in the back of his head. 

 

***

 

Gwaine liked musicians, just not these musicians. They were quiet, close-mouthed, and didn’t have any patience for knights--especially knights with reputations. The flutist had been a doll, and about as talkative as one too. So was the other latest, the singer, and the horn-player. Aside from their music abilities, they were about as likable as toads. But that wasn’t going to stop him from talking their ears off.

“That Freya is quite a gal,” he said, patting Hroth on the back. He got a muted glare in return. “You don’t hear tunes like that often, and I’ve been everywhere, so I should know.”

“She is talented.” was the reply.

“Right, I’m just surprised nobody’s heard about her before,” Gwaine plowed on. “Is she a new member of your troupe?”

“Why do you care, sir?” Hroth grumbled; he was trying to polish his instrument.

“I like anything with a pretty face,” he grinned. 

The man looked disapprovingly at the knight and muttered something about nobles.

“What was that?” Gwaine leaned closer.

“I said, you are disturbing me,  _ sir _ . Please let me get on with my duties.”

“I’m just curious; my best mate is interested in your girl and I thought I’d do what I could to help.” he amended, plucking one of the instrument’s strings.

“Your friend?”

“Merlin, the Court Warlock.”

Hroth looked up at him, face softening a little, then hardened when he remembered who he was talking to. “Really? I am fond of the man. But I have heard of you Sir Gwaine, and I am not fond of you.”

“Not surprised, but I wouldn’t steal Merlin’s girl. Come on, you’ve seen them together, haven’t you? Let a man help his best friend.”

The conductor sighed and set the instrument down. 

“Very well, but there isn’t much to say,” he said. “We found Freya on a lakeside a couple weeks before the feast. She was nearly drowned so we took her in. She was eager to come to Camelot with us, so we agreed to let her stay, but we never imagined she had such talent. I had hoped she would continue with us after our time in Camelot ends, but I doubt she will.”

“Aye, her heart is here,” Gwaine said, thinking about the couple’s happy faces.

“Sir Knight, I fear you may be a poet yet,” Hroth said, smiling thinly.

“Thank,” Gwaine grinned, “I’ve been getting lessons from Merlin. Now, about your flutist...”

 

                                                                                                                                       ***

 

Freya did not remember being good with the lute before dying. 

“I’d never even held one before a few weeks ago,” she confessed. “But as soon as I picked it up I knew what to do with it. Isn’t that strange?”

Merlin nodded but wasn’t too perturbed. “Sometimes I use magic to learn things faster; maybe there was some magic lingering from the spell that brought you back?”

“That could be it,” Freya said. “Maybe.”

It had been ten days since he’d found her, and they were sitting under a tree in the gardens. Merlin had just finished a meeting with Arthur and the knights (a meeting that had been equal parts business and giving advice to Merlin about girls) and Freya was done practicing with her troupe for the day, so they were enjoying some quiet time. Now that they were finally out of earshot of Gwaine, the most shameless gossip Merlin had ever met, Merlin felt like he could relax a bit more. Freya was nervous around the knights, especially Arthur (for reasons he completely understood), so it was nice to put that aside for a few minutes and talk about sweet nothings.

“I thought I was going to cry when you started playing,” he continued. “You have such talent. I doubt I could do anything like it, even if I had a thousand years to practice.”

“Oh, I think you could with enough time,” Freya said evenly. “An instrument is only a tool.”

“Look at you, talking like a real musician; see, you’re already a professional,” he teased.

Freya’s cheeks flushed. It showed up easily on her pale skin, unchanged after countless walks in the sun. She reminded him of a fairy--or what people thought fairies looked like, anyway. Maybe one of them gave her her musical gift?

After a moment of comfortable silence, Merlin cleared his throat.

“Are you sure you don’t want to meet Gaius today?” he asked like he had been asking every day. “He’s almost fully recovered.”

Freya shook her head; her hair tickled. 

“Why not?” he wondered. “I’ve told him how much he means to me.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I really want to meet him, just not today.”

“Or yesterday, or the day before,” he grumbled. “As soon as he leaves his chambers he’s going to hear about you and your lute anyway, so why are you so worried?”

Freya frowned and pulled a leave out of his hair. 

“I suppose he will…” she said. “but…”

“I promise he’ll be nice, and he’s dying to meet the ‘lovely young lady’ I’ve been talking about; you’re killing him with the suspense!”

Freya chuckled, then caught herself. Merlin thought she needed to laugh more; she looked so pretty when she did.

“Just pick a day to meet him,” Merlin suggested, “then you’ll have time to prepare yourself. I can’t stand keeping him in the dark any longer.”

She twirled the leaf in her fingers thoughtfully.

“Pleeease Freya!” he begged.

She nodded. “Let me think of a day,” she said. 

Merlin smiled and didn’t notice Freya’s face fall into a frown. 

 

                                                                                                                                   ***

 

“Not today either?” Gaius guessed when Merlin came back. 

“Sorry,” Merlin said. “She’s scared you won’t like her.”

“I find that hard to imagine; I’m sure she’s a remarkable woman,” he replied.

Merlin nodded, pulling a jar of cloves off the shelf to prepare a tonic for the old man. Gaius was mostly better but had a sore throat that was determined to keep swelling. At least he was out of bed and able to make simple meals.

“Ah, Merlin, not those,” Gaius said, pointing at the jar, “I’m having a disagreement with cloves. Substitute it with Lavender.”

“Oh, sorry.”

He swapped jars and started grinding the flower seeds into powder.

Gaius watched his ward for a moment and frowned.

“You’re looking a bit thin,” he said, “have you been eating enough?”

“Gaius, there’s so much food this season it’s hard to stop eating!” Merlin laughed. “I’m lucky I’m not getting fat.”

“Yes, I can’t disagree with that,” Gaius said, “But you are a little pale, and your cheeks are very pronounced. Shall I make you a tonic?”

“The only one who’s making tonics is me; you rest and get better. I promised...her...that I’d introduce you as soon as you were fully recovered.” He said, pulling another jar off the shelf. 

“You could at least tell me her name,” the old man said.

“Can’t; I don’t want to spoil the surprise,” Merlin grinned.

“Oh, do I know her?”

“Not telling!”

Gaius sighed and sat back, watching the warlock hum as he concocted an elixir for him. Merlin was grown up. Somehow, he’d never considered the boy with anyone; destiny and Arthur seemed intent on keeping him single, after all. But Gaius had to thank whichever girl changed that; even if he was a little thin, Merlin was obviously ecstatic. He could wait a little longer.

 

                                                                                                                                            ***

 

After being called “King Cupid” By Gwaine, Arthur banned knight huddles. They were teambuilding, yes, but the last thing Camelot needed was an embarrassing nickname for its monarch, so this was their punishment. 

Besides, he could hardly be called a cupid. Merlin didn’t need any help at all; it was a little sad to see him growing apart from him, but it was probably for the best. 

He hardly saw the scrawny warlock anymore. He was either with Freya or tending to Gaius; when he did bother to show up at council meetings and do his official duties (investigating magical incidents and acting as a judge for criminally used sorcery) he was distracted and vacant. It had been nearly two weeks and he was still lovestruck; if this was how it was going to be forever then Merlin really was a dollophe--er, idiot. 

Arthur set down his quill and stretched, groaning like he’d been chained to a wall for days, not doing paperwork for an hour. He really needed to train George to write speeches now that Merlin was too busy to help him. Any more mornings spent on reports would drive him mad. 

“Gwen, I’m taking a walk,” he called, “be back in... an hour?”

She mumbled a reply, already half asleep. Arthur grabbed his sword (never hurt to be careful) and glanced out the window; the sky was nearly pitch black, save for a small sliver of a moon peeking out from behind a forlorn cloud. How did it get late so quickly?

He closed the door behind him and nodded towards the guards as he passed by. The halls were torchlit in some areas, but for the most part, the castle was in shadow. He’d trip on his toes if he wasn’t careful, which was the last thing he wanted to do; it’d be just his luck if Gwaine (or someone equally annoying) saw it happen and said he looked like Merlin. 

Eventually, he made it outside. The breeze was bracing, touched with the beginning of fall, and smelled like dry leaves. Arthur sighed as it blew past, carrying a faint tune with it. 

A lute?

Curious, he followed the noise. It led him through a few streets to the city well. The road was slick with water and smelled like rain. He hadn’t heard any drops falling earlier. 

Sitting on the lip of the well was a woman dressed in white, which was the only reason Arthur could see her. She was plucking a lute, eyes fixed on the water far below. Arthur had seen Freya enough times (usually hanging on Merlin’s arm) to recognize her. What was she doing out so late?

He opened his mouth but decided not to call out to her in case she startled and fell into the well. 

The song she played made him uneasy, so different from the sorrowful or joyful songs she usually played. Her style reminded him of water, but deep and tumultuous, like a river with flooded banks instead of her more placid music. 

It reached a crescendo, haunting and wanting, then puttered into a quite plucking. The last note lingered in the courtyard like an unspoken word. As it faded Freya sighed. The wind carried her hushed voice to Arthur:

“Merlin,” she said, running her hands over the lute’s strings possessively. 

Arthur stepped back from the courtyard with an odd feeling that he’d intruded on something very private. Freya began a new tune, lighter than the last, and continued to stare into the well. Her white dress looked washed out and was the only spot of light in the area. The moon waned overhead, almost disappearing entirely, casting the courtyard in total darkness. 

Arthus crept back to the castle, mulling over his encounter with the musician. Did Merlin know she was out this late? Of course not; he would never leave her alone in the dark. It was probably just some druid practice or a musician’s habit. Nothing to be concerned about. 

He looked back at the street he came from, frowned, and went into the castle. When he was snuggled against Gwen, eyes beginning to droop, he wondered why Freya’s music sounded hungry. The question swam in circles in his head, but there was no answer he could come up with; he just didn’t know her. He probably heard wrong; he had no ear for music, after all.


	8. Pitch Black

Arthur insisted they go hunting.

“Hunting...as in, shooting defenseless animals for sport?” Merlin said glumly, although he knew the answer.

“Yes, _Mer_ lin, it’s fun.” the king rolled his eyes, “And you’d think after all your accomplishments a bit of blood wouldn’t bother you. You’re such a girl.”

“Shut up, you prat,” he groused, “you’re not the one who had to carry those dead animals back to Camelot every single time. Of course, I don’t like it.”

Arthur nodded his head like _“yeah, yeah, quit whining”_ and kept talking.

“I need to stretch my legs; there’ve been nothing but boring meetings all month. Come on, all the knights are coming. Bring that Freya girl with you and we’ll make it a date.” He said. “I’ve barely gotten to see her since that disastrous dinner and I need a chance to make her blush...Merlin?”

Merlin looked up from his scroll, blinking heavily. “What?”

“You’re not even listening to me,” Arthur made it sound like the sky had fallen. “Are you alright?”

“Just tired s’all,” Merlin answered, rubbing his eyes, “having trouble waking up in the morning. Dunno why.”

“Have you told Gaius?” Arthur asked, sitting next to his friend.

“He knows,” Merlin grumbled, “he keeps making me drink nasty tonics that _I_ have to brew. Mother hen.”

“You’re one to talk,” Arthur slapped him lightly on the head. “The poor man has barely left your sight in the last two weeks. I pity him.”

“Oh, come on, that’s not so bad. I’ve kept you at arm’s length for ten years,” Merlin smirked, “haven’t you noticed?”

Arthur snorted and tousled Merlin’s hair. He was about to make some pithy comment when he got a closer look at his friend.

Somehow, without any of them realizing it, Merlin had lost weight. _Again_. His cheeks were thin and his looked paler with the addition of two heavy bags under his eyes. Even Merlin must have noticed the change by now since his belt was tied two notches tighter than before. No wonder Gaius was getting protective!

“You look awful,” he exclaimed. “Have you been getting outside _at all_?”

Merlin frowned. “Yeah, I take walks with Freya in the lower town every day.”

“Well, that’s not cutting it. You’re coming hunting with me,” Arthur commanded. “And if it’ll put some color in your cheeks, you’re going to carry the deer too.”

 

                                                                                                                                          ***

 

Gaius watched the king and his knights ride out of the courtyard, a flurry of fine cloth and crossbows. Merlin vanished in the red cloaks billowing around him, and the horse’s clattered out of sight.

He sighed in relief and turned back to the castle. Time to prepare some herbal mixtures for the nobles; Merlin had scarcely given him time to himself in two weeks, and it was beginning to wear on him. Not that the boy meant ill, but for the first time in many years Gaius knew what his patients felt like when they were nursed at all hours.

The sunlight was strong, but a cool breeze was blowing through the city. Fall was on its way, and the summer humidity was all but gone.

 

                                                                                                                                           ***

 

They left Camelot early in the morning; Arthur, the knights, Merlin, Freya, and Gwen, all on horseback and chatting amiably about the coming day. Merlin yawned every other word but flashed a winning smile all the same. Freya rode beside him, a worried arm on his shoulder. She only removed it, red-faced, when Gwaine wolf whistled at the couple.

Arthur kept an eye on Merlin, half afraid he was going to fall off his horse. The idiot was clumsy enough already, but add sleep deprivation into the mix… it was all too likely that Merlin would injure himself and force them to cancel the hunting trip. What’s worse, he’d probably guilt trip them into never shooting so much as a hare again.

 _I swear, if he makes me worry anymore, I’m going to push him off a cliff_ , the king of Camelot thought irritably. _And where’s my hunt? From the season, there should be bucks everywhere, but we haven’t seen so much as a rabbit._

The forest was unusually silent. Arthur hadn’t noticed it until the conversation lulled, but not even the birds were singing. He put his hand on the pommel of his sword; could it be an ambush?

“It’s fine Arthur,” Merlin smirked, riding up beside him. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a bit of silence?”

“Oh, shut up Merlin,” he said, relaxing his grip, “your voice is what gives me nightmares. Stupid servant...why is it so quiet?”

Merlin glanced at the trees, nonplussed. “I ‘spect it’s because tonight’s the new moon.”

Arthur looked towards the sky, then stopped when he remembered it was still day time.

“Really? I’d forgotten all about that. What makes this new moon special?” he asked. “Any druid wisdom to bequeath me, warlock?”

Merlin scrunched his nose, annoyed by the patronizing tone, but held back his tongue.

“Not for prats,” he said. Well, maybe he didn’t hold it back too much.

Arthur shot him a glare.

“It’s not a big deal,” he shrugged, “The Empty Night happens every month. September’s just a bit more...intense, I guess.”

Arthur looked over his shoulder at the warlock, face twisted into a grimace.

“The what now?” he asked.

“The Empty Night,” Merlin explained, “you know, when it’s so dark you can’t see an inch in front of your nose. It’s the best time for dark magic and rituals. And the woods are extra quiet in September since it marks the beginning of fall--Queen Mab’s reign.”

“The Faerie Queene?” Arthur said, about to scoff, “you actually believe--”

Then he stopped because it was obvious Merlin did.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s fine,” Merlin said, “just be careful what you say about Tanaquill, she has listeners all over.”

Arthur stole a glance at the woods, whose underbrush suddenly seemed extra thick, and full of secrets.

Freya noiselessly appeared at his side, a faint smile on her face. It became guarded when she saw Arthur. He tried to look friendly; didn’t know if he succeeded.

The horns sounded nearby, and the dogs bayed loudly. Arthur looked and saw a shadow in the forest leap away.

“Stag!” Elyan said unnecessarily, and they were off.

Arthur whooped, raised his crossbow, and a grin played on his face. Freya, Merlin, and Gwen stood back as the knights, king, dogs, and beaters rushed past.

Once the hunters were gone the forest was once again buried in silence.

 

                                                                                                                                        ***

 

Merlin rubbed his forehead, wishing the headache would finally leave him. The last couple days had left him ragged, and now Arthur was dragging him through the Serket infested woods looking for meat the castle didn’t need. Hunters; completely crazy.

The last horse vanished into the trees and he eased back in his saddle, wincing at the sting in his head.

“Are you alright Merlin?” Gwen asked worriedly.

“Mm,” Merlin said, “First thing I’m doing back in Camelot is getting a nap. Not even a horde of wyverns is gonna wake me up.”

Gwen chuckled and patted his back reassuringly.

“There’s a lake up ahead, why don’t we take a breather over there?” she offered. “Arthur can have his fun and find us later.”

“Yeah, make him use his tracking skills,” Merlin chuckled. “Sure, let’s go.”

They spurred their horses forward through the woods, occasionally scratching their arms on tree branches. After about half an hour they came out at the banks of a small lake surrounded by ancient chestnut trees. The water was deep and nearly black, completely still. A few gnarled roots wormed into the water to unseen depths, and even the occasional frog or daisy on the shore did not cheer it up.

Merlin pulled his horse up, disconcerted and distressed. The water was pulling towards him like the tide to the shore; a whisper from the bottom of a well that made the listener lean over the edge to hear more. The trees seemed bent over the water, blocking out sunlight. In the middle of the lake was a patch of weeds strangling each other to rise above the cold water. Something glinted in the leaves…

“Merlin,” Gwen called, “come back, let’s have lunch.”

He blinked and was out of his reverie. Merlin looked down. Without noticing, he had gotten off his horse and walked to the edge of the lake. His boots were wet.

He stumbled back to dry land with a squawk, arms pinwheeling so fast he very nearly fell on his rump in the shallows. But fortune was on his side (or at least not actively out to get him) and he only got a few splotches on the back of his knees as he splashed to shore.

“What was that?” Gwen laughed as he plopped down on the picnic blanket with her and Freya.

“Nothing,” he mumbled, embarrassed on one hand and concerned on the other. Throughout the meal he glanced at the lake; what was hiding in its shadowy depths, just out of sight? It was as far from Avalon’s peaceful shores as possible, and it felt like his soul was slowly being caught on a hook and reeled closer to the water.

“Merlin, really, is something bothering you?” Gwen asked.

“N-no,” He said, “Sorry, I was thinking about...stuff.”

“Well,” Gwen dropped another pile of bread onto his plate. “Stop thinking and eat. Honestly, you’re thin and bones. How did it happen so quickly?”

“Dunno, I’ve been eating a lot,” in fact, eating more sounded gross. Like, really gross. Merlin shuffled the bread around on his plate, considering which spell would make is disappear easiest, when he looked at Freya's plate.

“And you say I’m the starved one! Freya, you haven’t touched your food,” he said, “or your strawberries. Are you feeling alright?”

“Of course,” Freya said, hands on her lap, “I’m just not hungry.”

“You’re never hungry,” Merlin groaned, “I don’t think I’ve seen you eat a bite in ten years--don’t laugh, I’m being serious! Honestly, you need to take care of yourself. What if you got sick?”

“It’s funny you’re telling me to be careful,” she smiled, “you’re the one always making me worry.”

“Dummy,” Merlin blushed, handing her a strawberry, “don’t say things like that. I look after you, okay?”

He was as red as the strawberry, completely smitten and embarrassed because Gwen was there. The only way it could get any worse was if--

“Hey ho, we’re back!” Gwaine roared, stallion leaping over a fallen log, “save me anything?--Wow, Merlin, what happened? You’re redder than Leon’s hair!”

Arthur and the other knights followed behind, an impressive stag with an arrow in its eye slung across a spare horse, bleeding onto its white coat.

Merlin stood, trying and failing to wipe the blush off his face. The others gathered around the blanket, which was all of the sudden too small, teasing Merlin and Freya. The banks of the strange lake were not so foreign now that friends were surrounding him, and its alien pull lessened.

By afternoon they were full and ready to leave. The stag was gutted and cleaned (no help from Merlin there, thank you very much) and the picnic packed away. Merlin kept away from the lakeshore, chatting with the warm, glowing company that breathed life back into the clearing.

Freya sat under a chestnut tree, the strawberry untouched.

 

                                                                                                                                               ***

 

Merlin made good on his promise to crash as soon as they got  afternoon. He barely bumbled “g’night” to Gaius before falling into bed, boots and all. As he sank into a deep, heavy sleep, he felt a fishhook-like tug on his insides, and the world spiraled into dark dreams and exhaustion.

 

                                                                                                                                               ***

 

Meanwhile, Arthur and the knights were in the armory, putting their weapons away.

“Ahh,” Gwaine moaned for the tenth time. “Oh, owwww….”

“What!?” Arthur finally snapped.

“My arm. I think I broke it.”

“Wait--what!? Let me see.”

“It’s not moving. I might have to cut it off.”  
“Idiot--somebody get Gaius!”

 

                                                                                                                             ***

 

Arthur was berating his wounded knight when the physician arrived. He skirted past the spear rack, tottering slightly from the fever’s lingering effects.

“Thanks for coming Gaius,” Arthur said, “I hope we didn’t disturb you.”

“Oh, I am fine my lord,” he replied, prying Gwaine’s arm into view. The skin was purple and swollen under his arm-guard; a fall from a horse would do that to you. “You’re lucky Merlin didn’t force me to stay in bed. The poor boy is too exhausted to stand up straight, much less tend to a wounded knight.”

“Is it broken?” Gwaine asked, peeking through his fingers at the gross injury.

“No, only sprained. You’re fortunate you didn’t hit a rock when you fell, or I’d be picking pieces of bone out of your skin.” the knight paled to a ghastly shade of green. Gaius slapped a salve over the bruises and wrapped it with bandages. “There, that will hold it. Now, I don’t want you moving it at all for the next week, do you understand?”

Gwaine nodded flippantly and poked his arm, hissing at the pain.

“Well,” the physician said, turning to Arthur, “when he inevitably worsens the injury bring him to my chambers and I will do what I can.”

The king agreed, looking sidelong at the idiotic knight, who was already trying to peek under the bandages.

Gaius put his supplies back in his bag, and Arthur noticed a small, green vial glinting from one of the side pockets.

“Gaius, what’s that?” he asked.

“Oh?” Gaius pulled out the vial, “It’s a tonic for Merlin. I’m afraid he’s spent so much time tending to me that he’s ruined his health. I’m surprised he hasn’t collapsed yet...You haven’t been pushing him too hard, have you, your highness?”

“What? No,” Arthur defended. “...No more than usual.”

“I would highly advise you to give him space and a few mornings in,” the physician said, his tone anything but subservient. “Camelot would fall within a week if he were too ill to defend it.”

“Oh, don’t be melodramatic,” Arthur grumbled, “the knights can handle themselves.”

Gaius nodded, wryly raising an eyebrow. He didn’t have to say “Morgana” to remind Arthur that some enemies weren’t so easy to defeat.

Gwaine grabbed the potion and held the vial of green slime to the light, then shook it up. Gaius glared at him, and the knight demurely put it back in the physician’s bag.

“I haven’t been pushing him at all,” Arthur continued, shooting his knight a glare as well. “He’s had more time off this fortnight than in the entire year...not counting the time he’s been caring for you, anyway.”

“No, Merlin spends all day doting on that druid girl,” Gwaine grinned, “taking walks, listening to her pretty lute-playing...I haven’t seen him alone in ages, but I guess that’s what happens when you find your one-and-only.”

Gwaine’s complains melted into proud simperings for his best friend. Arthur pretended to gag behind his gauntlet.

“Well, that would explain his obnoxious humming,” Gaius commented, putting his satchel on his shoulder. “I only wish I knew the girl’s name.”

“What--he hasn’t told you?” Gwaine yelped. Arthur found it hard to believe as well; Merlin told Gaius everything.

“The girl is shy apparently, and hasn’t felt ready to meet me,” he admitted. “Merlin agreed to let her take her time, and so I’m left in the dark.”

“Well, what are friends for but sharing secrets?” Gwaine chortled, “Her name’s Freya. You might not remember, but she and Merlin had a connection years past, but she had to leave Camelot because she’s a druid. Now that magic’s legal they can finally be together. It’s so sweet I almost choked on my tears when he told me--only Merlin!”

Arthur noticed with some interest (anda  lot of alarm) that Gaius’s eyes flashed with recognition at Freya’s name. But far from the elated expression Arthur expected, the physician’s face furrowed into a worried frown.

“What is it Gaius?” he asked. “Is something the matter?”

“I’m afraid so sire,” Gaius answered. “Because this girl cannot possibly be the same Freya Merlin rescued.”

Gwaine’s smile disappeared. “Why not?”

Gaius’s face fell into shadow, and the late afternoon light took on a sinister glow.

“Because, my lord, Freya is dead.”

Arthur stood in shock, ears ringing with words that had to be mistaken.

“Dead? That’s impossible, I saw her only a few hours ago,” he said, rubbing his forehead. Gwaine looked equally confused. “She’s practically aglow with life. Gaius, you must be mistaken.”

“Oh, but I fear I am not,” Gaius replied. “And whatever Merlin has told you about his and Freya’s tragic tale is fiction. Freya could never return here, even if she were alive. That I know for a fact.”

Arthur didn’t like being kept in the dark; it made him feel ignorant and all around clumsy. The look in Gaius’s eye, which was full of worry and pity, made him feel like a fool. His own heart grew panicked under the scrutiny of the old man’s gaze.

“Tell me what you know,” he said, “and what you fear.”

Gaius nodded. “Very well sire.”

Gwaine edged closer, injury forgotten.

“Merlin did rescue Freya from the slave trader, despite my warnings. If he had been caught...well, it was unlikely Uther would have spared him, and in my mind, it was better to ignore those in trouble that risk something so dear to me. Don’t look so shocked your majesty, under your father’s rule there was little more I could do.”

Gaius sank down on the bench beside Gwaine, who frowned with unusual thoughtfulness as he continued his story. Arthur sat beside the old man; what did he mean by ‘their tragedy’?

“I didn’t learn of her escape until the attacks started,” he confessed.

And Arthur remembered. The slaver, the deaths, the cursed druid…

“The Bastest,” he whispered, and then, “Gods, what have I done?”

He’d been right there--right in front of her as Freya’s skin twisted and deformed into black fur, as her eyes glowed with unearthly power, and a monster took her place. And he stabbed her... He stabbed _Freya_.

Arthur’s face was in his hands, fingers digging into his skin as he thought; if it had been him, and somebody had killed Guinevere, he never would have forgiven them. No, he would have hunted them down and gotten revenge. But Merlin? Merlin never even told him about this.

Merlin must hate him.

“Oh Gods,” he said again, hands falling to his sides. What had he done?

“Arthur?” Gwaine asked uncertainly.

“The Bastest is a cursed beast,” Gaius explained. “At the stroke of midnight whoever has been branded with its mark transforms into a monster and slaughters anything in its path. Ten years ago, Camelot was plagued with one of these creatures, and it was the knights’ duty to slay the creature.”

Comprehension dawned on Gwaine’s face. “You mean…?”

“I killed her,” Arthur whispered. “I _killed_ her Gaius; stabbed her in the chest.”

“No!” Gwaine shouted, surging to his feet. He slammed Arthur against the wall, seething. “You didn’t.”

Arthur shook his head, unable to answer. The memory played through in his head again; a small, frightened girl cornered by the knights. And the horror that followed afterward. _Didn’t know it was her_ , was a sorry excuse. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“You--you!” Gwaine couldn’t even finish his sentence, but his tightening fist expressed what he was feeling just fine. “Just because magis was illegal--”

“I’m afraid in this case, there was no other choice,” Gaius interjected, bringing the two men back to reality. He was holding the vial in his hands, looking sadly into its depths as if it had answers. “There is no cure for the Bastet curse, not even with magic. Even if she fled Camelot, Freya would have been hunted her whole life, leaving a string of bodies behind her. Arthur did was he had to, and Merlin knows at as well. He doesn’t blame you, your highness, he never has. You must know that.”

“Impossible,” Arthur stated, “he can’t feel that way. I killed Freya--I’ve seen how he looks at her Gaius! How could he forgive me for destroying everything he holds dear.”

His words echoed through the armory, ringing off the steel like a bell. Arthur clenched his fist, wishing there was something he could punch. Gwaine’s eyes widened and--after some hesitation--put a hand on his king’s shoulder.

“Arthur, if Freya were the only thing Merlin treasured he would have left long ago,” Gaius said gently. “But we do not have time to worry like this. If Freya is dead, then who is this?”

Arthur’s head snapped up, eyes narrowed. Gwaine stiffened and turned back to the physician. Gaius was grave.

“There have been no attacks, so she’s not a Bastest,” Arthur said quietly, “and Merlin recognized her at the feast immediately.”

“Could it be a glamour?” Gwaine asked. “An illusion?”

“Possibly,” Gaius said, “but I doubt Merlin would forget to check that, and there are mirrors everywhere in the castle. If this is magic it is strong.”

Arthur began pacing. His emotions were a wreck--Freya was dead, Arthur had _murdered_ her, and an imposter was running around the castle, bewitching his Warlock! He didn’t know which was stronger, his guilt over her death, or his irritation at Merlin for not noticing a hoodwinker when they were right in front of him! It was like Lady Sophia all over again.

 _Oh Gods, it better not be a troll_ , he shuddered.

“Well, why are we just standing here?” Gwaine said with difficulty, “we need to stop this hussy from enchanting Merlin!”

That was right; why was he dithering here? Arthur yanked his sword off the wall and grabbed a few extra throwing knives. Gwaine fumbled for his sword as well, cradling his bad arm, and they rushed to the physician’s chambers, Gaius lagging behind.

But when they got to Merlin’s room, the sorcerer was gone, leaving only a trail of wet footprints behind.


	9. What is Dead

Arthur stood in shock, looking around the room for Merlin, but only seeing those blasted footprints. The door to his cupboard-sized room swung back and forth on its hinges, unsettled by a breeze from the poorly shuttered window.

Gwaine hissed as he entered the room, then bolted from the door, following the trail. Gaius hobbled in, eyes widening slightly, and made for Merlin’s chamber.

“Dratted--Arthur, the footprints peter off at the end of the hall, but they were heading outside,” Gwaine said, appearing at the doorway.

“Outside--Gwaine, it’s almost nighttime,” Arthur said, “Where would they be going?”

The knight shrugged, too keyed up to answer properly. Arthur swore and pounded his fist on the table.

“Sire, come quickly,” Gaius called from Merlin’s room.

Arthur and Gwaine crowded into the tiny room, squinting until Gaius lit a sad looking candle on the end table. Piled in the corner, under a dirty shirt, was a small stack of books. Gaius lifted them onto the bed and scowled.

“Necromancy?” he muttered, “surely not…”

Arthur’s hand tightened on his sword, the implications sending chills down his spine.

“You don’t think he…” Gwaine gulped, unable to finish the sentence.

Gaius looked at him sharply, then shook his head. “No, I doubt it. Merlin has a good heart, he would never...what’s this?”

Two slips of paper fell from the book. Arthur picked it up; Merlin’s usually neat handwriting was hasty and uneven like he’d written it in the dark. A list of numbers and foreign words were jotted down and crossed out. A small line was penned on the edge so tightly Arthur could barely make it out.

“Stop...doubting,” he read, “has to be...real.”

Gwaine snatched the other note from Arthur and hissed as he read it.

“What?” Arthur snapped.

“Please Merlin, let me explain,” Gwaine read, “I cannot bear to hide the truth from you. Freya. I was right, the she-devil enchanted him!”

“No, I think not,” Gaius said, taking both notes. “Going by this list, Merlin is not as witless as you would like to believe. These are all spells and legends about the undead, as are these books. From the looks of things, he couldn’t find anything to prove she was reanimated.”

“Or he didn’t want to put her back in the ground,” Gwaine said, shaking with anger. “Whatever she told him during her ‘confession’ put the wool over his eyes; he’s in denial!”

“Probably,” Arthur said quietly, “but can you blame him?”

Gwaine was about to say he certainly could but Arthur’s face stopped him.

“It’s been ten years,’ the king continued, “but he hasn’t moved on.”

The room was quiet for a few minutes. Gwaine gnashed his teeth, trying to be properly angry--not pitying Merlin. Arthur hung his head, nauseous from guilt and worry. Meanwhile, Gaius turned the pages in Merlin’s necromancy book, searching for a clue.

“Where could she be taking him?” Gwaine finally asked. “What does she want?”

A bookmark in the thickest book gave them their answer. Gaius turned to the page and gasped. Arthur and Gwaine were peering over his shoulder at once. But there were only a few lines scrawled onto the page, barely even a footnote.

 _“_ The dead do not die; only sleep and wait.” Gwaine read. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Gaius said shakily, “That Merlin is in more danger than I thought.”

“Gaius, out with it!” Arthur ordered, too alarmed for politeness.

But the physician wasn’t listening. He pushed past them and heaved an ancient tome off his bookshelf. A cloud of dust filled the room as he dropped it unceremoniously on the table and began flipping through its pages. After what felt like an age, he stopped. Gwaine inhaled sharply at the image painstakingly painted on the page.

A pale corpse floating beneath the surface of a lake, hair twisted behind the woman’s skull-like face, grasping at weeds and curlings itself around stones. In the corpse’s hands was a drowning man.

“This is no mere ghost we’re dealing with,” Gaius said, hands shaking. “This is a mari-morgan.”

 

***

 

Merlin checked his pocket again. Thank goodness, the ring was still there.

Freya sat in front of him, fingers clasped around his as she steered the horse through the woods. Dusk was settling, casting the forest in shadow. His heart was still hammering from earlier. He’d woken up from a nightmare, covered in chills. He'd reached for the sidhe staff on impulse, but it had only been Freya standing by the door. In the fading light, she had looked paler than ever, and a sheen of dew had ringed her scalp.

She’d wanted to talk to him without interruption. The castle was a hive of activity, even at night, so Merlin had suggested a walk outside the city. Somehow that turned into a ride through the woods--and on September’s Empty Night no less! He had half a mind to turn around and light some candles in the kitchen, but it would crush Freya. They’d been planning to visit Lake Avalon for a while, and she’d been oddly insistent that they do it tonight.

And Merlin couldn’t think of a more romantic time to propose anyway, so why not? Short of Queen Mab herself, there weren’t many things that could stand up to him, even on a new moon. A little jaunt through the woods wouldn’t kill him….of course, how many times had he heard Arthur say the same thing?

“It’s getting late, perhaps we should turn back?” he suggested.

Freya shook her head. “We’re almost there.”

Well, that wasn’t right. Lake Avalon was another hour away, and it would be pitch black by then.

“Freya, really, if we keep going we’ll probably get lost,” Merlin persisted. “I’d hate to have Arthur on my back because I was late to tomorrow’s council meetings. Besides, Lake Avalon would be prettier during the daytime.”

The night was getting chilly, and an immortal warlock or not, he didn’t like the dark. If it weren’t for the witch light he conjured he wouldn’t even be able to see Freya. It was cloying.

“Arthur can keep his opinions to himself,” she said, “and so can those knights.”

The horse stepped over a fallen tree as Merlin gaped at her.

“That wasn’t nice,” he managed, “did they say something to you Freya? I know Gwaine can be a bit blunt, but he’s not so--”

“How can you stand to live in Camelot?” she interrupted. “Around all those murderers.”

“Murderers?” Merlin whispered. The horse continued plodding north. “Freya, how can you say that? They’re my friends, they’re not--”

“Arthur killed me,” she said, lips pursed. “Have you forgotten that?”

Merlin forgot to breathe. He looked away from her accusing eyes and stared at the dirt track they were traveling on. Stones zipped past as the horse trotted along.

“No,” he managed, throat tight. “I haven’t.”

                                                                                                                                   ***

 

“A mari-morgan?” Gwaine echoed, “what’s that?”

“A terrible creature,” Gaius shuddered. “It is a water spirit that consumes lifeforce. It haunts its victim by taking on the shape of a loved on and drains their vitality. Its music is said to drive the grief-stricken mad from longing...Once they’ve sapped their prey of everything, the mari-morgan drowns its victim in a lake.”

“That’s horrible,” Arthur murmured. “So Freya…?”

  
Is not Freya at all,” Gaius finished. “Just a face this monster put on to fool us all.”

Arthur shuddered, remembering the way she was wrapped around Merlin’s arm, constantly clinging to him. And how Merlin, over the course of two weeks, had grown pale and thin.

“That vampire,” Gwaine hissed.

“Oh, it doesn’t drain blood,” Gaius said, reading through the book’s entry, “it feeds on magic. No doubt Merlin’s store of energy was too tempting to ignore, which explains why it traveled all the way to Camelot for him. Usually, the mari-morgans don’t stray far from their homes. Perhaps the new moon has something to do with it.”

“The musician troupe told me they found her on a new moon by the lakeshore and took her in,” Gwaine piped up. “She just appeared out of nowhere.”

Gaius nodded grimly. “And tonight is a new moon as well, the perfect time to--to finish the deed. She’ll be far stronger now than on other nights and with Merlin’s magic…”

Arthur swallowed hard and wished his imagination was worse. But he could see Merlin floating facedown in the water as if it were really happening, and that vile _thing_ that called itself Freya laughing as it swam away.

Gwaine, the practical soldier, asked, “How do we kill it?”

Gaius turned the page and frowned.

“It doesn’t say, but I’d hazard that there’s one weapon that will finish the job.”

He glanced up at Arthur and the king nodded.

“Gwaine, get the horses,” he said and ran to get Excalibur.

 

                                                                                                                                       ***

 

“All of them think our story is sweet--you haven’t even told them what really happened.” Freya continued, “Why, Merlin, why lie?”

“To pro--”

“It’s not protecting them, it’s deluding them! If they can’t take accountability for the lives they’ve taken, for all the grief they’ve laid on your shoulders, then how can they call themselves friends?”

The trees parted and a lake came into view. The witchlight sputtered (Merlin was having a hard time keeping it going, though he’d never admit it.) as black water lapped on the banks. The gnarled chestnut trees stretched over the water like Narcissus over his reflection the moment before he fell in. A shudder passed through Merlin.

“This isn’t Lake Avalon,” he said. “We were here earlier today.”

Freya dismounted and strolled along the shore. Merlin hurried after her, worried she would walk out of sight. The night closed in on them.

“Freya, why are we here?” he asked, grabbing her arm. It was cold.

“I never said we were going to Avalon,” she said, “I only said I wanted to visit a lake. This one was closer.”

“This lake is evil!” Merlin told her, “there’s something bad inside it.”

“Let’s talk, and then we can go,” she said, crossing her arms.

Merlin glanced at the water. The island of pondweed was hidden by the darkness, but the strange object in the middle glinted like a star. This was hardly a romantic situation; Freya looked disturbingly happy by the shore, and exhaustion was hounding the poor warlock. He rubbed his head as a ringing sound echoed through it and drew a shaky breath to steady himself. He’d been pushing himself too hard again; Gaius was going to have a fit when he saw him like this.

Merlin decided to ignore the alarm bells clanging inside him and turned to Freya.

“Merlin,” she said, taking his hands, “come with me.”

“What?”

“I can’t stand being in Camelot; every time I see King Arthur, or those terrible red cloaks, I remember dying. It hurt so much, and I--I--”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” he wrapped her into a hug. “You’re alright now. They can’t--they _won’t_ hurt you anymore, I promise.”

“I know, but I just can’t be there.” she looked up at him with big, doleful eyes. “Ten years ago you were ready to leave your life behind for me. I know I’m asking the world of you, but if you have any affection for me now, you’ll do this, won’t you?”

 

                                                                                                                                       ***

“Sire!” Lancelot called, “they went this way.”

Arthur spurred his horse forward and followed the knight, Gwaine hot on his heels. They were lucky Lancelot had seen Freya and Merlin leave on horseback, otherwise they wouldn’t have had any idea where to start looking for the idiot.

Honestly, of all the people to be born with unfathomable magic, it had to be Merlin, the most asinine excuse for a warlock if there ever was one. And of course, said Warlock had fallen in love with a corpse who wanted to drown him and steal his magic. Oh yes, just another day for Merlin, the idiot who was too infatuated to realize his dead girlfriend was _actually_ dead. When he saved him, Arthur was going to kill that bloody sorcerer!

“How did he manage to ride through this?” Gwaine grumbled, swatting a branch out of his eyes, “I can’t see a thing!”

“I expect being a sorcerer comes in handy at times like this,” Lancelot commented, “I saw them head north that’s all. Gaius said this thing likes water correct?”

“Yes,” Arthur grimaced, _It loved drowning people in it anyway._

“There are three lakes nearby,” Lancelot said, “and three of us. I’ll go to Avalon, Gwaine will head to the Swan Lake two miles west. Arthur, that leaves you Gardner lake--we picnicked there today, it should be easy to find.”

“Since when have I let you call the shots?” he grumbled, turning his horse in the right direction. “Good luck,” he said, and rode north.

 

                                                                                                                                       ***

 

“If I love you I have to leave my friends and family behind?” Merlin couldn’t believe he was hearing this. “Freya, you’re the one who told me to stay last time, what happened to you?”

“I _died_ Merlin, that’s hard to get over,” she retorted, stepping into the shallows. “Especially when I have to stare are my murderer’s face all day. It’s almost impossible to get you to leave his side! I’m surprised people don’t think you’re more than friends for all the attention you give him.”

Did she just--no, he wasn’t going to think about that. He was already one word away from snapping.

“Freya,” he began, “listen to yourself. Just  _listen_ to yourself! I love you, and I’m happy you’re back, but things are different than ten years ago. I can’t just leave Camelot; without a Court Warlock Arthur will be dead in a month, and the druids need to me protect them. Magic is finally legal, and it’s my job to remind people of the good it can do.”

He stepped forward, taking her hands again to drive his point home. Cold water lapped against his shoes.

“This is my home. Everyone in Camelot is dear to me; I could never say goodbye to them...not even for you.”

The ring lay in his pocket, cold and untouched. Tonight was going to have been a beautiful, happy time; the moment when everything in his life was full and complete. But now he was shin-deep in lake water, arguing with the woman he loved. It was slipping away again, and in a lake too. Destiny was ironic.

“Can’t you stay?” he asked gently, some of the anger leaving him. “Please? We can make this work--explain everything to Arthur. He’s a good man, I know he’ll understand. Freya…”

Freya shook her head, hands tightening around his.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t,” she said, voice breaking. “I was so happy to find you again...I-I thought everything was perfect.”

She looked up at him one last time; her huge, chocolate brown eyes beginning to tear up.

“But it just wasn’t meant to be,” she whispered.

Merlin nodded, now left with the ruin of a sandcastle he’d been building over the last two weeks, convinced it was real stone. What a fool he’d been; hadn’t anything in the last ten years taught him that life wasn’t a fairy tale? People like him didn’t get happy endings.

“I was happy too,” he told her, “it was like I was drowning in my love. But...it was magic and nothing more,” he laughed derisively. “It’s never anything more….I’m sorry Freya...Goodbye.”

He let go of her hands and began to walk about to shore. But she grabbed the hem of his coat before he’d walked more than two paces.

“Please,” she said, eyes spilling watery tears. “Don’t go.”

Merlin shook his head. “I can’t leave Arthur.”

Freya dragged him closer to her until the water lapped over his boots.

“Please.” she began to cry.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin whispered.

He leaned in and kissed her one last time, meaning only to brush her lips before retreating to dry land. But as soon as their lips touched, Freya grabbed him by the hair and pulled him painfully close.

Water splashed wildly around them as he stumbled deeper into the lake.

It was hard to breathe, he tried to push her away, but her grip was vice-like. His hands shook as the lake--like it had that afternoon--hungrily drew him into its depth. The witchlight flickered once, then vanished as his magic failed, and the lake was bathed in the pitch black only a true new moon can bring.

As different, grainy darkness swept over his eyes, Merlin saw Freya--saw her through the murk of night. She glowed radiantly in her pure white dress, buzzing with smug satisfaction as her lovely brown hair withered into stringy, black locks, and her eyes were milky yellow.

She drew back, ending the kiss. Merlin collapsed into her arms, heart beating like a bird in his chest.

“You’re...not…” he breathed.

Cold, black water filled his mouth as he was pulled under.

“Hush child,” the thing that was not Freya crooned with a mouthful of crooked teeth.

She wrapped in him a cold embrace that emptied his soul. Her last kiss welcomed in the darkness. and together they sank to the bottom of the lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, whump. The tea, please?


	10. Love like Drowning

 

The last line of chestnuts was crushed under his war-horse's hooves, and Arthur burst into the clearing. Merlin’s horse whinnied worriedly from the sidelines, and Arthur’ eyes widened in horror as he saw Merlin entwined with the mari-morgan. His witchlight flickered as the creature pulled away. The warlock collapsed against her, frighteningly pale, as the monster--finally throwing off its guise as Freya--grinned and it dragged him under.

“No!” Arthur roared, charging into the water, Excalibur drawn. The sword seemed to glow despite the darkness, lighting his way forward.

Water pooled up to his chest, and the surface was still. He couldn’t find them like this. he took a deep breath and went under. His progress was painfully slow because of his armor, but a glint at the bottom of the lake spurred him on.

Swords, battered shields, lances, and other weapons and trinkets were scattered at the bottom of the lake--alongside their owner’s skeletons. Crouched under an umbrella of algae was the mari-morgan, wrapped around Merlin like an eel. Arthur’s friend was not moving, and his fingers were blue.

 _What is this?_ The creature laughed silently. Arthur put a hand to his head, disturbed. _A knight in shining armor? Nobody has come willingly into my liar before. At least, not without meeting me first._

Arthur raised his sword, slowed by the current. Black spots were obscuring his vision, and his head was being crushed under the weight of the water.

 _Give him back. He’s mine_ , he growled, hoping the thing understood him.

The Mari-Morgan snarled and drew the warlock’s still form closer. _I am of the Old Religion, a creature under Mab’s protection; it is my right to drag the heartbroken to their eternal sleep. You cannot take him from me, mortal._

Arthur gritted his teeth and readied his sword.

 _You’re not the first to tell me that_ , he said, and swung hard.

The mari-morgan hissed as Excalibur cut into her arm, clouding the water with thick, black blood. She lunged at him, far faster than him in the water, and released Merlin, who floated limply at the bottom of the lake.

Arthur brought up his sword as her claws raked his cheek. The mari-morgan hardly knew she’d been stabbed until the blade tore through her back.

She scraped her hands over his chainmail, trying to grab hold of her immortality again, but the weapon was too potent. Her eyes began to dim, and the creature shot him a foul, hate-filled look as her life drained away.

 _His loyalty to you may have stopped me from completing my task_ , she said, _but I never would have found him if you hadn’t cut a hole in his heart that still bleeds._

The water spirit sagged, empty of life. Arthur pulled his sword out of her, dizzy from being underwater so long. He grabbed Merlin’s prone form and swam for the surface.

He grabbed the weeds above them and climbed on them to an island of pondweed. A nest of armor and bones were on the surface, picked apart by crows.

Arthur gasped, breathing the brisk autumn air in gulps. He rolled Merlin onto the island and stared down at his friend, so pale, so hurt. But only for a moment, and then he was leaning over him, blowing air into his waterlogged lungs.

“Come on, breath you idiot!” he begged, listening for a pulse--for anything.

He was there for a long time, shivering from the cold and hoping against hope he hadn’t been too late when Merlin coughed out the water in his lungs and opened his eyes.

“A-Arth--Arthur,” he gasped.

“Merlin!” he cried, crushing his friend in a bearhug.

“Ah--Ah--Arthur!” Merlin wheezed. “Lemme go…!”

Arthur only tightened his grip.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

Merlin encircled his king with his own arms, and whispered: “I won’t sire.”

  


They stayed on the island until Gwaine and Lancelot arrived, terrified both their king and court warlock had drowned. They were all wet by the time they got back on the horses, and it was nearly dawn by the time they arrived back in Camelot.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERLIIIIIIIIN!
> 
> (pass me some popcorn).


	11. Epilogue

 

When Merlin and Arthur recovered from hypothermia the leaves were as bright as a knight’s cloak and the wind was cold enough to cut bone. Arthur listened to the warlock and gave Merlin some space. He needed time to himself to grieve for Freya again. He was too used to hiding his pain to share it readily; a habit that was a knife in Arthur’s heart. Arthur lost count of the number of times he stood at the warlock’s door listening to his friend’s quiet sobs, wishing he had the courage to knock. He was king of Camelot, but faced with the weight of Merlin’s heartbreak he felt as small as an ant.

At night he lay awake thought back to that night ten years ago when he’s unknowingly shattered Merlin’s happiness. There was nothing he could’ve done, but that was hardly an excuse. He should have figured something out, or at least _tried_ to. But what did Arthur do? listen to his Father and murdered a young girl, that’s what.

How could Merlin forgive him for that?

 

                                                                                                                                           ***

 

Weeks later, after a dismal feast that left everyone melancholy, Arthur woke and saw Merlin standing in front of his bed, a bag slung over his shoulder and red rims circling his eyes.

“Merlin, what are you doing in here?” he asked. “Are you mad?”

“Funny, you never asked me that when I was your manservant,” he quipped, chucking a shirt at him, “and good morning, by the way.”

“What is this?” he asked suspiciously, eyeing Merlin’s bag.

“A shirt put it on. We’re going out,” the warlock stated, “Hurry up! We don’t have all day.”

Arthur rolled his eyes but did as he was told.

“I haven’t had breakfast,” he complained, strapping his sword to his belt.

“Then starve.” Merlin deadpanned.

Arthur grimaced at him, and Merlin smiled, pulling an apple out of his bag. “You can have it after you’re properly dressed.”

“Where are we going?” Arthur yawned.

Merlin tutted and refused to answer.

Arthur followed him down to the courtyard where his favorite knights were huddled together.

“Hey, I thought I said those were banned!” he called.

The Knights jumped apart, looking sheepish. He’d have to take with them about this again. Great.

The seven of them mounted their horses and rode out of Camelot, arrayed all in red. Merlin led the way, confidently riding north.

“I don’t suppose any of you neerdowellers know where we’re going?” Arthur asked.

“No idea,” Lancelot said, “Merlin’s being cryptic.”

Arthur stole a glance at his friend. Merlin smiled thinly and kicked his horse into a gallop. Arthur sighed and followed, wondering where is warlock was taking him this time.

 

                                                                                                                                               ***

 

Lancelot recognized it first; he had been there only a little over a month ago, after all. The others dawned on it slowly and pieced together what they’d been told by Gwaine and Arthur as they stopped their horses on the banks of Lake Avalon.

Merlin dismounted and sat on the shore. Bright blue waves lapped on the banks, calm and peaceful. Arthur sat beside him and waited for him to speak. Merlin twisted a ring in his fingers, complex emotions playing across his face.

“This is where I buried her,” he said eventually, nodding towards the lake.

Arthur looked out across the lake, half expecting a ghostly Freya to wave at them from the water. But there was nothing, of course.

“I gave her a queen’s send-off,” he continued, “with a boat and everything. She deserved that.”

Arthur nodded, not confident he could speak yet. The knights kept vigil behind them, silently supporting their monarch and their friend.

“Guess I should’ve known it wasn’t her,” Merlin hung his head, “the dead don’t come back; that’s just how it works. But I couldn’t do it--I wanted to believe it was her.”

He hiccuped and wiped a mess of tears off his face. The ring in his hand glinted in the sunlight; small and simple and heartbreaking.

Arthur put an arm around Merlin’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he told his warlock. “I’m so sorry Merlin...for everything.”

Merlin hiccuped and leaned into him, letting the tears fall silently.

“I-I don’t blame you for it, Arthur,” he said, “I never have. You’re a good man, always have been. It’s not your fault.”

“Moron, don’t comfort me,” he grumbled. “I’m supposed to cheer _you_ up.”

“I know,” Merlin chuckled, “and you already are.”

They stood, and Merlin opened his satchel. Inside was a small, paper boat. They all filled it with wildflowers. Arthur watched his friend reverently put the wedding ring inside it before they set it adrift on the lake.

The boat sailed effortlessly across the water; when it got to the middle of the lake Merlin raised his hand to light it on fire, but Arthur stopped him.

“No,” he said. “You don’t have to say goodbye yet. Let it sail as far as it can.”

Merlin nodded. Arthur kept his arm around his friend’s shoulders until the papercraft sank into the lake; the flowers drifted across the water like a sunburst as the ring vanished under the waves, gone forever.

“Thank you for telling me about her,” Arthur said, “...I don’t deserve you, Merlin.”

“No,” Merlin said, “you always have. And no matter what happens I’ll be here for you until the day I die. Of that make no mistake; you are my king, and my friend, Arthur. Nothing will ever change that.”

The look Merlin gave him was one of fierce pride and gratitude. He smiled and pressed his head against Arthur’s shoulder before whispering, “Thank you for saving me.”

Arthur nodded, trying to smile. Merlin may have been saved from imminent peril, but there was a wound carved into it that hadn’t healed in ten years. Even if he was forgiven, Arthur wouldn’t forget that is was his fault.

They watched the last of the flowers blow away and Lake Avalon returns to its serenity. Merlin turned away, preparing to leave. Arthur stayed by the banks as the others readied the horses. A forget-me-not washed ashore, and he picked it up, twirling the small bloom in his fingers as he prepared his thoughts.

 _Freya,_ he told the lake, _I am sorry for what I did to you. I will be a better friend to Merlin--I want him to depend on me instead of suffering alone. He’s my most important person in the world, and I can’t bear to see him hurt. You may never forgive me, and I suppose I will have to live with that. But please, let me be the friend Merlin deserves. After everything he’s been through, he’s earned that._

He sighed and dropped the flower back into the shallows. Leon called to him; the horses were ready, it was time to go.

Arthur turned his back on the lake.

As he mounted his horse a breeze swept past, carrying the scent of strawberries.

“ _You already are…”_ it whispered.

He spun around. A girl with brown hair smiled at him from the island in the middle of the lake, young and radiant.

“Frey--” he began, but she vanished along with the breeze.

“Arthur, what’s wrong?” Merlin asked, looking back to the lake. “There’s nothing there.”

“It was nothing,” he muttered, turning away. “Just a trick of the light.”

“If you say so.”

Arthur spared another look at Avalon before they left, but the banks were empty, nobody was there. But perhaps that was for the best; the dead do not come back. They only sleep and wait. Someday Merlin would join Freya in Avalon, but for now, he had a life to live. And Arthur was going to help him live it.

 

                                                                                                                                ***END***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it/hated it. (the bet reactions are a mix of both.)
> 
> After I get a reality check and realize I probably failed my classes because I was writing this, I'll get started on the sequel (prequel?) of the Warlock of Camelot series...But, school first. Degrees don't earn themselves!

**Author's Note:**

> So, I finished Merlin and this happened. It's my roommate's fault. Personally, I think I should be in therapy (recovering from The Diamond of the Day), but fanfiction seems to help me work through the grief...by making my own torturous stories, of course. There's some irony here, but I'll ignore it.
> 
> This is my first fanfic BTW, so I hope it's good.


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